This is war. There was a box elder bug in my water this morning. Yuck.
For those of you who don't know--you lucky things--a box elder bug is a nasty looking black roach-like flying bug that invades homes during the Fall when the temperatures drop. No, they don't bite; they don't sting; and from what I've read they're vegetarians that only eat box elder trees. But I hate the creepy little things. They travel in packs and make an annoying buzz. Simply put, they freak me out. There was one crawling on the toilet seat this morning. I successful knocked it in the bowl. When I came back two hours later, the sucker was still there--swimming strong. I would like to live in peace with them, but they crawl on my desk, and my computer screen. And they've crawled on me; they don't understand boundaries and personal space. I've killed a few by drowning today (toilet flushing, and the faucet spray into the drain); smashing them with my clogs is only sometimes successful. They make themselves real flat and play dead when I bop them with the shoe, but then often walk away when I look away. And here's the worst part: there's no way to get rid of them. Aargh!
They've stirred up a great deal of aggression for me. So if there's a smushed bug, a smushed anything in the final draft of the manuscript. You'll know why.
